


Your Next Bold Move

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Phantom Planet, The Like, Young Veins
Genre: Crossdressing, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Good is overrated," Alex says. "Fuck that shit, you know how it goes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Next Bold Move

**Author's Note:**

> For desafinado, who wanted thrift-store hipster cross-dressing.

Ryan runs his fingers over the silk, and doesn't say much. He's in a vintage shop in L.A., overeager shopkeeper hovering just to the left of his shoulder. It's a thin slip, almost see-through, the silk faded from pure white to a soft gold. It's the sort of thing Z might wear. Would have worn, when she was sixteen and ready to take on the world.

"1930's," the shopkeeper says. Her hair is piled up on her head in long braids, and she has gold earrings in both of her ears. "Couture, very nice. No tags, but definitely French. You like it?"

"Yeah," Ryan says.

"What size is she?" the woman asks, pulling the hanger carefully off the rack. "I can take the measurements, if you'd like."

Ryan looks at the slip, drifting almost down to the floor. The straps are wide, bias-cut, and even on the frame the fabric hangs like there's someone inside of it.

"It'll fit," Ryan says, and reaches for his wallet.

\--

The first time Z had pointed out that Ryan would probably fit into Tennessee's dresses, it was a joke suggested over margaritas. Z pulled a drag off her cigarette, smoke drifting out of her mouth as she laughed. Ryan grinned at her, and said he'd do it for Alex's next party.

"Really," Z said, raising an eyebrow. "Pinky swear?"

"Absolutely," Ryan said, and sealed it with a kiss.

\--

"I hope he's showered," Tennessee said, wrinkling her nose as she opened the door. "He has showered, hasn't he, Z?"

"Like _you_ shower all the time," Z said, tugging Ryan by the hand into Tennessee's apartment. "He's clean enough, I promise."

"I really am," Ryan said, giving Tenn his best earnest eyes. "And I promise not to throw up on it, or spill anything, or crinkle the fabric--"

"I shudder to think about the state of your wardrobe," Tennessee said. "I've three you can choose from. The rest are off limits."

Ryan had gathered up the piles of fabric and taken them with him in the bathroom, despite the fact that everyone present had seen him naked, or close to it.

"Dramatic impact," Ryan said, when Z complained. "Also, my mascara's smudged. I need to do a touch-up."

"Oh, shut up," Z said, and kissed him.

The first didn't fit; the third wasn't quite right, and bunched awkwardly on his chest.

But the second one, oh.

Ryan tilted his head, and looked at himself in the mirror. The only noise was the hum of the fan, and the muted voices of Z and Tenn coming from outside the tiny room.

The cut of the dress suited him; it softened everything up, somehow, made his angles look rounder and more delicate. Ryan looked himself up and down in the mirror, once more. He licked his lips, and then blushed, flicking his eyes away.

Ryan squared his shoulders, and pushed open the door, falling back into his normal, striding gate. Something about the dress made him want to roll his hips; he didn't, but he wanted to.

"Z," Ryan said, sticking his head into the living room. "What do you think?"

Z's eyes lit up. "Oh my god," Z said. "Holy shit, that's _perfect_. Come here. No, twirl, maybe. Ryan!" Z called out in glee, clapping her hands just once. "And your hair--this is going to fucking own. He's never going to recognize you, not if we really go all out."

"I told you," Ryan said, laughing. "I'm not going to try and seduce him. I have _self-respect._"

"But you could," Tennessee said, grinning at him. "You absolutely could, oh my lord."

Ryan swished his skirt at her in response.

\--

"I--hello," Alex said, blinking. He was holding a tumbler in one hand, and swaying a little as he opened the door. "Are you--have we met?"

Z squeezed Ryan's hand, a firm reminder to be quiet. "No, you haven't," Z said. "This is--"

"Hello," Ryan said, in his normal baritone, unable to resist.

Alex choked on his drink, nearly spitting it out onto both of them. "Holy fucking shit," Alex muttered, and then he grinned at them both, wide and pleased.

"You," Alex said, wrapping his fingers around Ryan's wrist. "You are coming with me, oh my god. We are going to have so much fun fucking with people tonight."

"Can I come?" Z said, dropping her purse on the table next to the door. "I promise to be good. Or not to be good, as the situation presents itself."

"Oh, absolutely," Alex said. "Good is overrated, fuck that shit. You know how it goes."

\--

The slip comes wrapped in scented paper, tucked into a box and tied with a ribbon. Ryan tosses it in the back of his car, and then thinks better of it and places it on the passenger's seat.

On the steering wheel, his palms are slightly damp. His throat is a little dry.

"Good is overrated," Ryan murmurs to himself, at a stoplight. He thinks about the feel of Alex's hand on his back, smoothing over the dip, layers of taffeta between them. Or the way Z's eyes had sometimes traveled to his collarbones, glancing over them with a strange sort of fascinated hesitance before she dropped her gaze.

_Way overrated_, Ryan thinks, and drives himself home.


End file.
